Blackout
by jadefirefly3D
Summary: While on a short road trip, Stan has an encounter with an old enemy which leads to dire consequences and some terrifying and profound implications. Stan-centric, Post-Weirdmageddon fic that deals with the after effects of Stan's recovered memory loss.
1. Drive

A/N New chapter of "The Clairvoyant's Curse" is coming soon, real soon, I promise.

For now, here's a Stan-centric stay told in three parts. The story is completed and I will upload Part two by Saturday and part Three will be up by Tuesday.

Enjoy!

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 **Part One: Drive**

The sweltering heat in the air was making Stan irritated. He brushed his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat gathering on his brow, cursing the busted A/C in his car as he replaced the cap to his gas tank. He grumbled under his breath, complaining about the cost of gas nowadays and opened the door to climb in, contemplating lunch at the diner across the street. He was tired and hungry after a long day on the road and could use a good juicy burger. Cholesterol be damned.

He checked his watch and decided to go for it. He was still a few hours out of town and he didn't have anything before he left so why not? He was starving. Besides, he never wanted to drive hours out of town for a measly thingamajig for Ford in the first place but Ford said he needed it for some experiment or something and it was important and yada-yada-yada. It wasn't available anywhere in town and it would've taken too long to wait for shipping so Stan, being the shmuck he is, agreed to drive all the way to Portland to get it. He figured that it was a nice day, and it would be nice to take a day trip on his own to clear his head. The past year had been… _eventful_ to say the least and he hadn't had much time to himself lately. But he was exhausted and lately had been feeling, well, not much like himself. Not quite under the weather, but not normal either. Probably his old age catching up with him, but he regretted offering to make the trip the moment he agreed.

Decision made about lunch, he climbed into the sauna that was his car and drove across the street, pulling into the parking lot at the diner.

The diner, along with the gas station, was a lonely little dive in the middle of nowhere on a long stretch of winding roads with a touristy gift shop not much different than the one he used to run at the Mystery Shack. He had been there once before, recently with Ford and remembered the food being delicious and the gift shop to be...admittedly decent. It was no Mystery Shack Gift Shop, but at least it had A/C. And for a Monday in June, before school is out in most parts of Oregon and therefore before tourist season officially kicked off, it looked like he would be one of the only customers. The only other car in the customer parking lot was a big black pick-up truck and two burly men stepped outside the diner and made their way towards it.

He climbed out of his car anticipating the cool A/C and a nice lunch to fuel him through his last stretch of driving. As he stood he noticed that the older of the two men glanced his way and then did a double take, recognition filling his eyes.

"Well, well, if it ain't Stan Pines? That really you? Holy shit man, I thought you were _dead_!"

Stan waved awkwardly, "Uh, hello." The recognition wasn't mutual and he wracked his brain trying to remember this guy. He felt like he _should_ recognize him, but his memories were still a little scrambled. Not enough to affect him day to day, as he remembered the important things, but enough to make encounters like this a little awkward.

"What are the odds? After all these years running into _you_ out here in the middle of nowhere," he grinned, and something in his smile made Stan nervous besides the discomfort of not recognizing someone who clearly knew him.

"I uh, I'm sorry have we met?" Stan asked.

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Stan Pines," the man grinned, saying his name with venom in his voice as he approached him with an odd menace in his step.

Despite his age, Stan knew he could hold his own in a fight, he and Ford fought a lot of nasty supernatural creatures together, and he even punched a pterodactyl in the _face_ once, but this man had him shuffling his feet nervously. "Sorry, you don't look familiar to me," he said, wincing, "my uh, memory ain't what it used to be."

"How convenient," he scoffed, "you don't remember me? Then I guess you don't remember the money you owe me."

"Money?" Stan frowned.

The man moved in front of the Stanleymobile and soon was right next to him, "Yeah, money," he reiterated, pushing back his denim vest to reveal a holster with a gun, "lots of it."

It was most likely true, Stan owed a lot of people money. But this guy was still unfamiliar, yet there was something in his eyes, a dangerous menace that reminded him of… _something_ , he just…couldn't quite remember what.

"Maybe if you get in the trunk, it'll jar your memory," he grinned, and with a swift movement the gun was pointed at his chest.

Stan raised his hands, his eyes stinging from the sweat dripping down his face, only this time it was not just from the blistering heat, but also a pang of fear. He didn't remember the incident of being locked in the trunk of a car with full clarity, but he remembered the claustrophobia creeping in when he hadn't experienced it before, he could remember the suffocating heat and the pain in his hands and fingers from trying to claw his way out, and the painful realization that if he didn't escape he was going to die. He obviously got out eventually, though he couldn't remember how, but he now understood his fear of tight spaces and the occasional nightmares about being buried alive. Nightmares that he vaguely recalled had once plagued him on a regular basis.

He recognized the man now, his face shifting into familiarity but his name…the name was on the tip of his tongue but his mouth was dry and he couldn't speak the name that haunted him for years.

How could he have forgotten him? Is it the fact they're both over thirty years older and both weathered with age? True, he had his entire memory erased and hadn't gotten them all back completely, but surely this guy was someone he would've remembered. You don't simply _forget_ the man who nearly killed you, _twice._ The phrase: "Third time's a charm" raced through his head and he tried to shove that thought away.

"Look, here's my wallet, take it OK? I don't want trouble," Stan said, embarrassed for suddenly being so afraid – especially now, after all he had been through and all he had faced. The man was big and threatening, clearly still strong and just as tough as he was back in the day, but so was Stan. He wasn't feeling quite right lately, but despite the strange sense of wrongness in his body, Stan still felt that he could take this guy if he had to and yet fear gripped him tight. Stan had battled monsters and demons and come out on top, so why was he so frozen in fear now that his foe was only a man? Maybe it's because there are still such gaps in his memory and he's doubting himself because of it. Surely the fractured memories swirling in his brain were twisted and warped into making him imagine a threat far worse than reality… "H-how much do I owe you?" he asked, trying to keep things calm, hoping he could talk his way out of the situation, "I can write you a cheque…?"

"A cheque?" the man scoffed, "Worthless. Get in the car, we're going for a ride. Frankie!" he called out to the younger man, "I'm going to ride with my old friend here, follow us, OK?"

"Sure thing, pops," the younger man said, grinning.

"Look I…"

"Get. In. The. Car," he ordered, the barrel of his gun pressing into his chest as he grabbed Stan's wallet.

"Where are we going?" Stan asked, climbing back into the Stanleymobile, swallowing a lump in his throat, still confused about this guy who clearly held a serious grudge.

The man climbed into the back seat directly behind him, pressing his weapon into Stan's neck, "Just drive."

"OK," he said, putting the key into the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot, trying to figure out a strategy of how to escape his situation. He decided to turn back towards Portland and away from Gravity Falls, wanting to keep him as far away from his family as possible. The man, Ron, Rick… _Rico!_...didn't seem to have any specific destination in mind, and that made Stan a little nervous as he tried to figure out what he had in mind for Stan.

"There's only eighty bucks in this wallet," Rico scoffed after a while, "did you seriously think I would be satisfied with only eighty bucks? You have any idea just how much you owe me?"

"Look buddy, I don't remember you, I swear," Stan insisted, though by now it was a lie. He didn't remember everything, there's still _a lot_ about him he can't quite remember, but he remembered enough to know that Rico was not someone you wanted to mess with. He was tougher than he looked, and he already looked foreboding. Then there's the fact that he had always had a sadistic cruelty about his nature. Plus, he had _connections_. Woe be the man who gets on Rico's bad side. He didn't need to remember the details to understand that little fact. If only Stan could remember what exactly he did to get on Rico's bad side in the first place, because he had a strong feeling it was more than just because of money that he owed. The only reason Stan escaped him all these years was because Rico thought Stan was dead.

"I don't want trouble so whatever you want from me…I'll give you whatever you want."

"Yes, you will," Rico agreed, and Stan could see him through the rear-view mirror shuffling around, snooping at the junk in the back seat. Stan would've taken the distraction as an opportunity to swerve the car, get his gun and gain control but Rico's kid Frankie was following close behind. It would be too risky, and considering how he had been feeling lately, like something was wrong with him, he couldn't trust that his reflexes would be fast enough for him to take and maintain control. For now, he had to do as he was told, keep him placated and wait for the right opportunity.

"Cute kids," Rico said with amusement holding up a photograph from his wallet for him to see through the rear-view mirror. He pulled the photo from the clear plastic cover and flipped it over, reading their names on the back, "Dipper and Mabel," their names rolled off his tongue in a cold, sinister way and there was a hungry glee in Rico's eyes that made Stan sick, "Must be very important to you, huh?" How old are they?"

"Look man, leave them out of this," Stan growled.

"Just making conversation," Rico chuckled calmly, "How old are they?" his voice returned to menace.

"Thirteen."

"Nice age," Rico cooed, not taking his eyes off the picture, "not quite children, not yet grown up. Shame if something were to happen to them."

"You go anywhere near them and I will kill you," Stan growled, and he meant it.

Now that his memories were coming back to him there was no doubt in his mind that Rico was a legitimate and dangerous threat. Stan knew _exactly_ what Rico capable of and what kind of sick, sadistic fetishes he had. As scared as Stan was for himself right now, he was relieved that the kids weren't here. Before he left on this little day trip they had said they wanted to come with him to keep him company. Stan almost said yes, but ended up saying no so he could have the day to himself and besides, Soos needed their help setting up for Tourist Season. He dreaded the thought of what might have happened if they were here. He never wanted the kids to ever have to cross this guy's path and he was mentally kicking himself for letting Rico get his hands on the picture. But it didn't even occur to him and when he gave him his wallet, he still hadn't remembered exactly the kind of monster he was dealing with.

Rico ignored the threat, reaching for something else in the back seat, "Interesting," he remarked, reaching into a box on the floor just behind the passenger seat. Stan swallowed hard, knowing exactly what was in the box. Mystery Shack stuff, some old files and paperwork, a few miscellaneous items from the gift shop.

"Mystery Shack, huh?" Rico said, "Gravity Falls, Oregon. Well, look at you Mr. Fancy Business Owner. I know where we're going now. Turn around."

"OK but you'd be wasting your time," Stan said, trying to keep his voice even as he made a U turn, "it's not my business anymore. Sold it last year. I don't have anything to do with it anymore."

Rico smirked, pulling out his phone. "Mystery Shack, Gravity Falls," he said into the device. "Oh look, here's the website!" he exclaimed.

Website? The Mystery Shack had a website now? This was news to Stan who was never very good with computers and always thought a website would take away from the rustic, hidden gem kind of appeal of the place. He didn't have a say anymore as it was under new management of course, but Stan wished it didn't exist now more than ever. The less Rico knew, the better and a website wasn't helping his cause.

"Huh," Rico muttered before suddenly leaning forward and wrapping his arm around Stan's neck, causing him to swerve slightly before regaining control of the car. "Don't lie to me Pines, you say you don't have anything to do with the place, you sure about that?"

Stan gagged and choked at the grip around his neck, he could feel the barrel of the gun digging painfully into his neck and out of the corner of his eye saw another picture on Rico's phone. It was a picture of everyone. Him and Ford, Soos, Wendy, and the kids. Melody had taken the picture just yesterday. "Old picture," he choked out in a desperate attempt to get his attention away from them.

"Funny, the caption says, 'Mystery Shack family reunion 2013'! Looks like the whole gang is there, I say we pay them a visit, don't you?"

"Look, how much do I owe you?" Stan asked, desperate, "We can stop by a bank or I can wire the money to you now… They don't need to be a part of this, Rico."

Rico laughed, leaning back, "Oh Stan, I don't care about the money…well, yeah I do, but after that stunt you pulled all those years ago, I want more than just getting my money back. Much more."

"What stunt?" Stan asked, still unable to remember that detail.

"Quit it with the fake amnesia shit, you know perfectly well. You betrayed me! Because of you I spent ten years in prison, did you know that? My boys were raised without a daddy for _ten_ years because of you!" Rico hissed, raising his voice angrily, painfully jabbing his gun into Stan's neck, "Would've been more but they released me a few years early. But all those years I was out for your blood, did you know that? But then word got out that you were _dead_. I can't believe I bought it, too. Should've known you'd take the coward's way out, instead of facing me like a man! Let me tell you, betraying me? Faking your death? Big mistake! One you will pay for _dearly_."

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'll do whatever you want, you can do what you want to me I don't care, I probably deserve it, but leave them out of it, they have nothing to do with this."

"If you just paid me what you owed and left well enough alone and didn't set me up like you did, and didn't run away and hide like a _coward,_ we wouldn't be here right now. We could've parted ways back at that diner like nothing ever happened. But it's too late for that, ain't it?" He leaned forward again, growling furiously into his ear, "I don't appreciate being lied to Stan! I don't appreciate being betrayed and I don't appreciate being made to look like a fool! Simply paying me back ain't enough now, Stan. Now, I want to see you _suffer_."

They came across a small dirt road that looked like it hadn't been used in a long time. "Know what? Change of plans, turn in here," Rico said. Stan did as he was told, his mind racing as he tried to think of an escape plan, or a way to warn everyone if something happened to him. The truck followed them, his bumper right on Stan's tail. Escaping would be tricky, but not impossible. If he could just get a hold of the gun somehow…

The road led to a small clearing and a dead end. "Stop here and get out," Rico ordered and Stan did as he was told as the truck also came to a stop and Rico's kid Frankie stepped out.

"So what's happening pop?" Frankie asked.

"We're going for a little hike," Rico said, "and then we're going to Gravity Falls. My old friend Stan here has family there. Such a cute, sweet looking family. I think we need to go and say hi."

"I swear, you go anywhere near them…" Stan growled, his heart pounding with fear. Fear for himself, but mostly for his family. If he couldn't get out of this alive... they would have no idea what kind of danger they'd be in, they might not even know what hit them if Rico and his kid or his goons went after them.

Rico laughed with sadistic amusement. "Walk," Rico ordered, all traces of amusement gone from his voice and now full of a venomous hatred. He pointed Stan in the direction of a forgotten trail into the woods, so overgrown and ignored, Stan had to brush away cobwebs as he led the way down the path. The area was so remote that if Rico murdered him, it could take weeks, month, _years_ before anyone would find his body.

"I can get you the money, _please_ , do whatever you want with me, kill me, torture me, whatever rocks your boat, but _please_ leave them alone, they've done nothing to you," Stan begged, feeling the barrel of Rico's gun pressing into his back. He hated being forced to beg, but he didn't know what else to do. Rico's son Frankie also had his gun pulled so if Stan tried anything and failed, there would be no question, his family _will_ pay for it.

But he had to do something. He had to try. If he couldn't save himself, he had to still do whatever he could to protect the kids, to protect his brother. He wracked his brain trying to think of some way to disarm Rico and turn the tables on them without being shot down first; but his reflexes were slower lately and he was terrified of what would happen if he failed. Stan would gladly die for his family and if he thought it would get Rico to leave them alone he would pull the trigger himself. But he knew it wouldn't be enough and he couldn't help them if he was dead.

The thick trees led to a clearing and the sound of rushing water nearby indicated a stream or river nearby, probably at the base of the cliff overlooking the edge of the small clearing.

"On your knees Pines," Rico ordered, forcibly shoving Stan forward.

"So what? You gonna kill me?" Stan asked, trying to keep the terror from his voice, "What about your money? Don't you need me alive for that?"

"Not my biggest concern or need at the moment. Besides, I don't need you to get my money. Your debt is now _their_ debt," he held up the photo of Dipper and Mabel that he had in his wallet, "I want you to suffer, I want you _dead,"_ Rico hissed, "now get on your knees!"

This was it. It was now or never. The way he had been feeling lately had Stan doubt whether he could be fast enough to gain the upper hand, but he had to make his move. If Stan did what he was told, he would be dead and it would be the kids who would be left to suffer at their cruel hands. His heart pumping with fear and adrenaline he twirled around and tried to grab for the gun but Rico was faster, pulling it upward and clocking him in the head with the base of it.

Stan's world went topsy-turvy at the surprising strength behind the blow and stumbled to the ground. He could feel blood trickle down his forehead as his vision wavered dizzily. Rico and Frankie were a blur as he tried to push himself up and attack, but he wasn't fast enough. Another blow, this time a kick to his sternum had him landing on his back, knocking the wind out of him.

"They won't have the money… I do, I know how to…please!" he begged, rolling over to push himself up.

Another blow in the small of his back, courtesy of Frankie this time.

"Oh trust me, I have my ways of getting what's owed to me Stan," Rico taunted, "you should know that by now."

Stan was shaking, he knew what lengths Rico take and what he would do. He could only imagine what Rico had in store for them and the thought sickened him. And there was no way to warn them…no way to protect them.

"Here's what I have in mind for them," Rico laughed, "see, I figure the boy and the girls could keep us company while, I'm guessing your brother and the younger guy can get my funds. It's bound to be a good time, right? I mean, you know how much I _love_ kids…"

Stan felt sick. He knew. He knew too well, having once discovered his collection of photographs and videos. He knew exactly what Rico had in mind and just the thought of what Rico would do to _his_ kids filled him with blind rage. He let out a guttural cry and jumped to his feet, lunging at Rico with murder in his eyes.

A shot rang out and Stan stopped mid-lunge, fiery white-hot pain ripping through his chest. He gasped in shock, the pain knocking him to his knees. Rico laughed, as Stan grasped at the wound on his chest, blood spilling out between his fingers as he weakly slumped forward, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Rico knelt in front of him, looking him in the eyes, holding up the photograph, "I know me and these kids are going to have so much _fun_ while I await payment. Remember: your debt is now their debt."

Stan spit in his face, blood and saliva dripping down Rico's nose and cheek.

Rico casually wiped it away, "As always Stan, _pleasure_ doing business with you."

With that he gave Stan a light shove and Stan fell onto his back, clutching his chest, writhing on the ground in pain, blood filling his lungs.

No, no…this couldn't be it. He always expected that he would probably die a violent death, but he couldn't die like this. Not like this. He had to get up, he had to power through the pain and warn Ford, protect the kids...save them…

He made one feeble attempt to get up but the pain was too much for him and he choked up blood as he groaned in agony, collapsing to the ground. He could vaguely hear them starting to walk away, but everything around him was fading. His vision dimmed he gasped weakly for air, but the blood filling his lungs and spilling from his mouth made each breath a painful and futile effort.

As he slipped into darkness, gasping his final breaths the last thought that crossed his mind was his family. Ford, Dipper, Mabel and Soos and Wendy…all he could think about was them and how he much he failed them. In his last moment of consciousness, he prayed for their protection.

Everything faded to black. Stan went limp and still, his eyes slid shut and his laboured breaths ceased while his heart slowed to a stop.

-/\-

A moment passed and suddenly Stan's eyes opened, but a different set of eyes looked through them.

"Well, well, well, isn't this _interesting._ "

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A/N Did I really just do that? Yes. Yes I did. But the story is not over though. Trust me. Also, please leave a review! I would love to know what you think! :-)


	2. Payback

A/N Hello everyone! I'm glad you're here! I know this story is kind of different from what I usually write, but I'm happy that you liked chapter one enough to check out chapter two. Sorry it's a little later than promised, I've decided to split this chapter into two parts because a) it seemed to flow better that way and b) I'm basically rewriting the second part because I'm still not happy with it. Anyway, before we begin I have to give a huge shout out and thanks to AllenbysEyes, Gravity Faller and Brenne for the reviews and to everyone who added this to their favorites! You guys are wonderful! 3

Well, without further ado, here's the next chapter!

Enjoy!

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 **Part Two: Payback**

Stan Pines was not someone who went down easily. Rico knew that all too well. When he had his goons stuff him in the trunk of his own car and abandoned him in the middle of the Nevada desert, Rico knew there was a slight chance that Stan could escape before he succumbed to heat stroke and dehydration.

That was fine though. At the time, he didn't care if Stan lived or not – what he really wanted was to deliver a message. Stan owed him a lot of money, but with only forty dollars and a piece of junk car to his name, he was a lost cause anyway. He didn't have any family or loved ones that anyone knew of to use as leverage until Stan got the money, so Stan had Rico in a tight spot. He gave Stan a deadline to pay him back, but when he couldn't deliver Stan was faced with two options: either hand over his life and loyalty to Rico until he paid his debt, or die.

When Stan spit in his face Rico knew that he made his choice. As far as Rico was concerned, Stan's fate was in his own hands. Though the odds were against his survival, Rico kept his eyes open. Sure enough, a few years later their paths crossed again.

Rico was nothing less than fair. Stan was an annoying, lowlife prick who told bad jokes and was too much of a sad sack to ever amount to anything, but Rico kind of liked him. He was kind of like a lost puppy under his tough exterior and yet still managed to hold his own when his guys beat the crap out of him upon discovering him alive. Even broken and bloodied on that motel room floor, Stan still had some serious fight in him left, when most would've long since given up. Maybe he was feeling a little generous that day but Rico had pity on him and Stan was given one last chance to either pay him back, work off his debt, or die.

Seemed like the incident with the trunk still had him shaken so, with nothing left to lose Stan reluctantly joined his posse. Amusingly enough, the dumb bastard seemed to think that working off his debt was possible. He had all this crazy talk about what he was going to do once he got out of this life. There was no getting out of this life unless it's in a wooden box, six feet under. Once a lowlife criminal, always a lowlife criminal, and once you joined Rico's posse, you were in it for life.

And yet Stan Pines seemed to think he was better than the rest. Sure, he had no problem with petty crime and conning his way out of things, and sending rival goons to the hospital, but hurting innocents? Nope, too good for that, apparently. Had a hard time accepting that sometimes there was going to be collateral damage involving innocent bystanders. But when he discovered Rico's dirty little secret and side hustle involving children, Stan had the audacity to try and walk.

"I'll get you your money, but from here on out, we're _done_ , Rico," Stan had said, as though he had a choice.

That wasn't good enough though. He could no longer trust Stan's loyalty so he couldn't keep him around anymore, and Stan knew too much so he couldn't let him leave either. Seeing no other suitable option, Rico shot him in the head without hesitation. Or that's what he had thought. Turned out the bullet only grazed his temple and Rico's mistake was leaving the scene without checking to make sure he was dead. It wasn't until later, when the feds just happened to be where they were going that Rico learned that Stan survived, set him up and ran. Like a coward.

The fact that Stan escaped Rico twice had Rico starting to believe that Stan had a guardian angel watching out for him. But as he wasted away in prison, Rico had vowed that Stan would not survive their next encounter. It was almost disappointing when he learned that Stan was killed in some accident.

Needless to say, Rico didn't expect he would ever run into that lowlife scum ever again, so when he saw him at that diner in the middle of nowhere Oregon, he was legitimately surprised. He didn't have a plan when he climbed into the backseat behind him, all he knew was that Stan Pines was going to die.

It felt good, seeing Stan go down, choking on his own blood, lying on his back in some remote part of the Oregon woods. Old man was done for. No guardian angel looking out for him now.

He and his son Frankie started to walk away, but remembering the last time he shot Stan Pines and walked away without making sure he was dead first, Rico stopped, tapped Frankie on the shoulder and they waited. Waited until the gurgling sounds of Stan trying to breathe finally ceased. Rico considered checking to make sure, but the bullet clearly pierced a lung and where moments before Stan was writhing, twitching and choking, now he was still and quiet.

He was no longer breathing and now Rico had no doubt in his mind.

Stan Pines was dead.

For a moment Rico entertained the idea of dumping the body in the creek at the bottom of the cliff but decided against it. Remote area like this, no one will find his body for quite some time and by then Rico and Frankie would be long gone. Handling the body would be a waste of time and effort, and there was still the matter of Stan's debt. He and Frankie needed to plan their next move before heading to Gravity Falls and making a surprise visit to the Mystery Shack.

He didn't know what kind of relation the kids in the picture had to Stan, but they must've been important to him to have a spot in his wallet. Dipper and Mabel. Rico was looking forward to meeting them especially. Rico figured they should go there, stake the place out a bit and then snatch them when they're alone and vulnerable. His hatred for Stan was so deep that killing him wasn't enough revenge. Now his family had to suffer and pay Stan's dues.

"Come on, boy," Rico said to his eldest son, "let's go."

They both turned and started to walk back toward their truck but a voice from behind them had them both stop in their tracks and Rico's blood went cold.

"Well, well, well," the voice said, and it sounded like Stan…but not, like there was another voice overlapping it, "isn't this _interesting_."

Rico and Frankie both spun around and Rico drew a cross over his chest when he saw Stan standing where he had, well, _died_ , as though nothing was wrong with him.

Stan was smiling, a wide, bloodied grin and his eyes…his eyes were… _wrong_. They didn't look human. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood, still smiling. "You should see the look on your guys's faces!" Stan laughed, a wild maniacal laugh.

"B-but…how?" Rico exclaimed. For a brief moment he thought maybe Stan had a bulletproof vest on and was faking but…why would he be wearing one? And what about the blood? And the _eyes_! No, this had to be impossible.

"I'm kinda surprised myself, if I'm to be honest," Stan shrugged, "I mean, I know that my Weirdmageddon left it's mark, changing some of the rules and all, but I had no idea that…" he paused, faltering slightly, swaying like he had one too many to drink, a little startled. His expression then shifted to mild annoyance. "Hmm," he muttered, not to them but in contemplation as he glanced down at the wound on his chest as though he had merely spilt coffee on his shirt. "Interesting, indeed." He seemed almost disappointed by something, though Rico had no idea what it could be. A second ago he was dead.

Regaining his senses after his initial shock to see Stan on his feet, Rico raised his weapon and took aim preparing to shoot.

"Not so fast," Stan hissed and suddenly Rico couldn't move. His finger was frozen on the trigger, but he couldn't fire. He couldn't do anything. Frankie must've caught the confused panic in his eyes because he too raised his gun, "You too, junior." Stan said.

"Pop, I can't move!" Frankie exclaimed.

"Me neither!"

"Hmmm," Stan didn't seem concerned about them at all, he seemed to be concentrating on something. "Dammit, I'm still stuck and…" he grumbled under his breath. "Well, this is rather inconvenient. Only one thing to do now, I guess." He sighed and then a yellow glow wrapped around him.

"Wh-what's going on?" Rico stammered, still literally frozen in place with his gun raised.

"Seems my existence is _still_ currently tied to Ol' Stanley here," he explained with a wince, "so, like it or not, apparently I need him." As he spoke the light concentrated on the wound on his chest and Rico and Frankie both watched with fascinated horror as the bullet emerged the way it went in. It hovered in the air a second before Stan grabbed it, regarded it a moment and then shrugged, tossing it casually in the waters behind him, "See, the sad irony is that I've been trying to figure out how to get out of this meat puppet, y'know? For a second I thought, now that he's kicked the bucket I'm finally free but…false alarm because apparently not. Looks like we actually need each other to co-exist—at least for now."

"Y-you're a demon!" Rico exclaimed.

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Wow! You must be a genius to figure that one out!" Not-Stan rolled his strange inhuman eyes, his bizarre layered voice dripping with sarcasm. "Excuse me a moment, will you? I'll deal with you in a sec, but right now, I need to do this unfortunately. I'm running out of time."

He placed his hand on the wound on his chest, "Clear!" he said and suddenly electricity blasted from his palm, working almost like a defibrillator and his body jerked. He writhed for a second and paused. "Aw come on, old man!" he growled, "I don't have time for this! Get back here!" He shot himself with a blast of electricity again and then slumped forward, stumbling slightly. His eyes for a brief moment looked normal and human and he looked around in confused, disoriented panic, before he stumbled again, his eyes rolling back, his body on the verge of collapse. But before he could fall to the ground he caught himself, straightened up and blinked, grinning. When he opened his eyes again, they were back to being strange and otherworldly, pale yellow with black slits for pupils. "There, that's better."

"Wh-what the hell…" Rico stammered.

"Yeah, I don't like it either," Not-Stan said conversationally, "I mean, I'd rather be back in the Mindscape than stuck here in _this_ vessel, dormant and useless like, 90% of the time but," he gave an indifferent shrug, "it is what it is. I'm in control for now so, I'd better make the most of it while I can." His grin widened, "Now, as for you two…"

"Look man, let us go OK? We won't try to shoot you, promise," Rico said as Not-Stan menacingly approached him until he was looking him in the eye, not even acknowledging that the barrel of Rico's gun was now pressed against his chest. Rico desperately tried to shoot, but he still couldn't move.

The demon laughed, "Liars."

Rico and Frankie both let out startled gasps when their bodies suddenly turned against their will so they were facing each other, weapons raised, fingers on the trigger. Not-Stan made a gesture with his hands and they both lifted their aim and were suddenly pushed forward so they were standing facing each other with their guns aimed in the middle of the other's forehead.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Rico cried out in panic, feeling Frankie's gun digging into his forehead, meanwhile his finger seemed to move a fraction, squeezing ever so slightly on the trigger now pointing at his eldest boy's head. "Please let us go! W-we'll leave you alone, I swear!"

"Look, I'd love to let you go," the demon said, "but see, you put me in a bit of a position here, you must understand. Any other circumstances, I would have no problem with you killing Stanley here. Heck I would bring the popcorn and sit in the first row to watch his execution, believe me – can't stand the guy. But you need to understand the predicament I'm in. As it turns out, being temporarily wiped from existence has taken a lot out of me. I'm not quite as powerful as I used to be, but I'm getting there. Or I _was_ until you two goons showed up and had to ruin everything."

"We're sorry, man, please…" Rico begged. He had no idea what the demon was talking about – Mindscape? Weirdmageddon? What was he talking about? – his monologuing made no sense. All he knew for sure, however, was that one slight movement from him and Frankie, and they would be dead.

"I mean, I knew that it was Stanley's memories returning that helped me get back into existence in the first place, but I didn't realize that our fates are literally intertwined. Apparently, my existence is still reliant on him – probably explains why I'm still stuck here," he shrugged, "he may not be the vessel I want, but he's the one I need right now. And then you had to go and kill him. I'd thank you if it wasn't such an inconvenience for me."

"Look, you're a demon, right? Demons make deals?" Rico said, "I…I'll make a deal with you, yeah w-we can make a deal and I…I won't let you down!"

"Y'know what? I kinda like you Rico," Not-Stan said, "you're evil—a pathetic lowlife piece of scum, sure—but I like where your head is at. You've got potential. _But,_ you're also an idiot. What part of _stuck_ here don't you understand?" he scowled bitterly. "I've been slowly building strength for almost a year now, and thanks to you, I have to start all over again! Do you have any idea how draining it is to use my powers right now? I've got _plans_ you know, Rico! Big plans!"

"We're sorry! Aren't we, Frankie?"

"Yeah," Frankie exclaimed.

"Please, give us a chance, we'll do anything!" Rico pleaded desperately.

The demon wearing Stan's face shook his head, " _Maybe_ if things were different, I might've given you another chance—you could've been pretty decent henchmen or whatever you kids like to call it nowadays, but…well," he shrugged, "life ain't always fair."

With that he snapped his fingers and before Rico or Frankie knew what happened they pulled their triggers in unison. Their bodies jerked back and collapsed in perfect symmetry, bloodied holes in the middle of their foreheads, mirroring each other as they lay motionless and lifeless on the ground.

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A/N Thanks for reading, please leave a review, it would really mean a lot to me to know who's out there reading this and what y'all think! I hope that this made sense. Next chapter will be Bill's POV and should be up in a couple of days (once I'm finally satisfied with his section that is). Have a great day!


	3. Undetected

A/N Why hello all you lovely Fallers! Welcome back to my story! Thank you for making it this far! Special thanks to Gravity Faller and Brenne for the lovely reviews! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

* * *

 **Part Three: Undetected**

Bill wasn't happy with his new reality. Not at all.

In fact, his whole plans to take over this dimension have all fallen apart completely and he was angry. First, he couldn't let his beautiful Weirdmageddon expand beyond Gravity Falls. Then he got spray paint in his eye which _hurt_ , then just as he was about to turn Shooting Star into star _dust_ , the stupid elder Pines twins had to _trick_ him—trick _HIM_ —and then they had the audacity to _erase him from existence_! And up until then everything had been going so smoothly.

And then, as an insult to injury when he slowly came back into existence, hitching a ride on Stan's returning memories, he had discovered he was both powerless and trapped in the wrong vessel. He never wanted Stanley as a vessel, invading his mind for Gideon was bad enough, he was glad to get out of there. Stanley was no longer part of his grand master plan. Sure, he was part of the now obsolete Zodiac Prophecy designed to _stop_ Bill, but Stanley's role was never very integral to _Bill's_ plan like his brother and the kids were. The only thing he was good for was putting the Portal back together, and that was just simply Bill's _backup_ plan. Once he served his unintended purpose, he was back to being the nobody he always was.

So, it was a bitter irony that suddenly the most insignificant member of the Pines family had suddenly become integral to his very _survival_. Though Bill knew his condition was temporary, he was not pleased with or used to the concept of being mortal. Because that's what he was now. Mortal—well, actually, destructible. He could still live forever, but for now, he was also vulnerable to being destroyed. A fact that Bill discovered shortly after Stan's murder.

When Stan died, Bill legitimately thought he was finally free. His death gave him a sudden surge of power, he still didn't feel like himself—certainly not 100%—but he felt more powerful than he had been in almost a year. But that power rapidly drained from him as Stan's life force left his body and Bill was still stuck. As he quickly discovered, he could only animate Stan's corpse for so long before he too would die. He hated doing it, but he had no choice but to bring Stan back from the dead—just when he thought he was finally rid of him.

Bill smirked when the bodies of Rico and his son Frankie hit the ground. It was almost a shame to have to kill them—well, force them to kill each other that is—because Bill kind of liked them. Rico was extra diabolical and Frankie wasn't much better than his old man and, especially given Bill's new reality, he could use some low life criminals like them to do his bidding while he hid in Stan's mind and rebuilt his strength. Plus, the things they would've done to Pine Tree and Shooting Star would've been entertaining, and it most certainly would've caused Stanley great pain to see them suffer because of him. Bill may have had plans for the Pines family, big plans, but that didn't mean he didn't want them to pay for what they did to him and his glorious Weirdmageddon.

But, because of them Bill was almost back at square one power-wise, and he couldn't keep up both controlling Stan's body _and_ maintaining control over his killers's will. They had to die. If Bill released them they would've just killed Stan again and Bill didn't think he could come back from that.

"I guess I could've thanked you, Rico," Bill chuckled, regarding his corpse, amused by the frozen look of horror on his face and glazed over eyes, "but you _really_ ruined everything, you have no idea."

Bill had spent the last ten months hidden in Stan's mind, watching from out of the corner of Stan's eye, slowly building his strength. Being erased took a lot out of him and he hated this new feeling of complete powerlessness. All he could do was wait, dormant inside Stan's body, feeding off his energy while he plotted out his revenge on the Pines family and Plan B for world domination.

Sometimes he could take control of Stan for a few seconds, or even minutes, at a time. Usually when he was asleep, but sometimes he could even take over when he was awake. But doing so always seemed to weaken him. Besides, for now, Bill's plan relied on no one knowing he still existed, so he had to do it sparingly, when it would work best to his advantage. So far Stan had no idea that he had a little dorito-shaped parasite sharing his body, occasionally taking the reins in secret. Undetected. It needed to stay that way.

He was OK with starting over again, he was over a billion years old, he knew how to be patient, being a year off schedule was not the biggest deal in the world. Inconvenient, sure, but _everything_ was riding on no one discovering him - especially while he was still weak. As much as he would've liked to thank Rico for murdering Stan the way he did, doing so created a _huge_ problem.

Bill surveyed the clearing, his eyes scanning past Rico and Frankie's corpses to the pool of blood where Stan had fallen, grumbling in frustration, contemplating his next move. He ran his fingers through Stan's hair in frustration, "How do I remain hidden after this?"

The few times Bill took control of Stan's body when he was awake, Stan had no idea it was happening and no memory of it. Stan was a little unnerved by his little blackouts, but they didn't last long enough to worry him enough to mention it. Stan was convinced that his blackouts were a side effect of his memory being wiped. They rarely caused problems and when they did, one time in particular, he was in denial to the point he managed to convince himself that it was because of something else. This however, this was not something that could go unnoticed.

"Guess I've got some work to do," Bill sighed. He hovered his hands over the pool of Stan's blood which was magically absorbed deep into the dirt until there was no trace of it. When Rico and Frankie's bodies are discovered, there couldn't be any evidence Stan was there. He also removed all traces of blood from Stan's body, wanting there to be as little questions as possible when he woke up. Stan was wearing a black shirt, which made his job a little easier, but using his powers to clean up the mess Rico made was making Bill dizzy.

He was _not_ enjoying this feeling of being weak. His powers were draining at an alarming rate and if Stan wasn't so deeply unconscious right now, Bill didn't think he could maintain his control. As it was, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up. He had to finish before he too passed out, so he swallowed hard and pushed through it, making his way back to Stan's car, carefully retrieving Stan's wallet from Rico's pocket on the way.

He opened the door and was blasted with heat, which made him feel physically ill. He may have raised Stan from the dead, but Bill did not have enough in him to fully heal him, nor did he really want to. Pain really was hilarious, but not so much when _he_ was the one experiencing the pain, and Bill was feeling it now. He just had to remind himself how satisfying it will be when Stan wakes up feeling like shit. By then Bill will be back to his little corner in Stan's mind, watching the show and knowing what Stan's going through without having to feel a thing himself. It always pleased him when Stan or his precious family was in pain.

"Just a little further," Bill muttered, digging into the part of Stan's mind that knew how to drive to start the car and get away from there. Silently he groused about how much easier things were when he was an all-powerful, all-seeing, interdimensional dream demon—there was no need for something as mundane as _driving_. He just hoped that his pathetic, limited, and weakened state won't last long. Feeling a little sorry for himself, he drove toward Gravity Falls, trying to think of a plan, think of his next step.

How was he going to get out of this undetected? Sure, he erased the blood and most of the evidence of Stan's encounter with Rico, but Stanley himself was still a problem. It was going to drain him of even more energy and power, but he would have to do some digging and wipe Stan's memories of his encounter with Rico, that was for certain, but that too was a problem in of itself. It was going to create a massive hole in Stan's memory, and how was he going to explain that?

So far Stan hadn't mentioned the small gaps in his memory to anyone, but a huge one like this? That would be worth mentioning. It was going to raise suspicion and if Sixer found out, it wouldn't take long for a few _theories_ to emerge and that would ruin everything.

He entertained the idea of going back to the diner where it all started, letting Stan think he took a nap in the parking lot or something, but it would still raise too many questions and wasn't nearly as fun. Besides, Bill's control of Stan's body was dwindling fast. He wouldn't be able to make it to the diner, and certainly not all the way back to Gravity Falls, which would be a bad idea anyway. It would only raise more suspicion to his existence, especially considering he can't even enter the Mystery Shack unless he's hiding so far in Stan's mind that the magic spell made to keep him out can't detect him. He just could not afford the risk right now.

Bill sighed, needing to think of something _fast._ He was slowly starting to lose control of his vessel, even though Stan was still out cold. He needed to act now, but what to do? If he waited too long to think of something, he ran the risk of losing control of Stan completely while he was still driving and if that happened, they might crash.

A huge grin crossed Stan's face as Bill formed a brilliant idea, "Of course! How silly of me!" he exclaimed, "The solution is obvious!"

Up ahead, Bill saw a sharp bend in the road. Slowing down slightly, Bill let go of the steering wheel and released his control over Stan's body, retreating deep into Stan's subconscious. Vaguely he was aware of the car coming to a jarring halt as it smashed against a tree.

Problem solved.

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A/N Hello again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Good or bad, please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	4. Blackout

A/N Hey, thanks for making it this far! Glad to have you here! Here are a couple of shout outs to my lovely reviewers:

Brenne: Thank you for reviewing every chapter so far. I'm really glad you're enjoying it. I hope you like this chapter!

kagome11: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like it! I love a reformed villain as much as the next person, but Bill is too great as an evil chaotic villain to ever be redeemed.

Without further ado, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Part 4: Blackout**

Stan woke up with a start, his heart pounding from the aftermath of a terrible nightmare, the kind where the memories of it are gone seconds after waking, but the feelings the dream left still lingered. It left him gripped with panic and a desperate need to protect the kids, but he had no idea why.

He blinked heavily and looked around at his surroundings in confusion. The fear from his forgotten nightmare shifting into something else to be afraid of, something _real_ , when he looked around at his surroundings and realized he had no idea where he was or how he got there.

He clutched his chest with a wince, a sharp jolt of pain stealing his breath away. Was he having a heart attack? He took a strained but deep breath through his nose, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. It hurt to breathe. It felt like he had been stabbed but when he looked there was no sign of a wound that he could see, no blood. But there was a hole in his shirt, a hole he could not explain. Had it always been there?

"Where am I?" he groaned, looking around at the trees in confusion, breathing heavily to keep himself calm and cope with the agony in his chest. His head hurt too, and he could see that somehow, he had crashed into a tree. OK, so he had an accident, but how? Why couldn't he remember? Did he hit his head? Was the pain in his chest from the seatbelt? But as the question crossed his mind he could see he wasn't even wearing a seatbelt. That wasn't like him. So, what the heck happened?

"Stay calm and think, Stan, think!" he told himself as panic was quickly settling in. The last thing he could remember was deciding to have lunch at that diner that he and Ford ate at a few weeks ago but, looking at his watch, that was _hours_ ago. How could he not remember beyond that? He wasn't even sure if he even ate. There was a gross, metallic taste in his mouth, almost like blood but not. His stomach was rumbling, but he couldn't tell if it was from hunger or from something he ate not agreeing with him. Maybe both? His head hurt too, but it didn't hurt badly enough to think he hit it hard enough to forget the last few hours.

It would be scary enough to forget the events leading up to an accident under normal circumstances, but in Stan's case, it wasn't a normal circumstance, it was much worse. Was he having a relapse from the memory gun? He'd had a few blackouts since having his memories erased, but they only lasted a few seconds or so, at worst a couple of minutes, but never like _this_. What if it meant his recovery was temporary? What if it meant he was sooner or later going to forget everything again?

"No, no," he shook his head in denial, still trying to still his panic, "you are _not_ going to go back to that state," he said, remembering that surreal, empty feeling of remembering absolutely _nothing_ , and that helplessness from seeing the people he cared about most mourning his loss and having no idea who they were. He never wanted to be like that again, never. "You are Stanley Pines you will _not_ forget that!"

He reached out a shaking hand for the glove compartment to grab his phone, but as he suspected there was no service. The remote Oregon woods had terrible reception, especially with the cheap pay-as-you-go provider he had. Maybe he _should_ have listened to the kids and forked over the money for a better provider, one who might have service in the area.

The thought of the kids brought back that lingering feeling from his nightmare. The one that filled him with an odd sense of urgency that he needed to protect them from some sort of looming threat. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone or something dangerous was after them. He wanted to brush it off as just a dream, but bearing in mind his amnesia, maybe they really _were_ in danger from a threat he couldn't remember.

Considering their lives, and considering what sort of dangers he _knew_ were out there, it was a very real possibility. Trouble seemed to follow them wherever they went, so his paranoia was grounded in reality.

"I gotta get home," he muttered, even though technically the Mystery Shack wasn't his home anymore. But it still felt like home, and Soos insisted that it would always _be_ his home.

Confident that he _wasn't_ having a heart attack after all, Stan forced himself to take action. With a groan, he climbed out of the car, hunched over, clutching his aching chest and went to inspect the damage to his car and get his bearings. Fortunately, there wasn't much damage, just a dented bumper but nothing serious that would require major repairs. He couldn't have been going very fast when he crashed, which wasn't his driving style, but he thought it was odd that there were no skid marks from slamming the breaks to avoid crashing. It was only giving him more questions than answers.

The road he was on was from what he gathered, one of the smaller, more remote roads, a route he wasn't familiar with but he knew the area enough to have a vague idea of where he was. He wasn't that far from home, maybe another hour of driving at most, depending on how long it took to get back on familiar ground. The road was quiet; he had yet to see another car pass by but it didn't seem like it would be so deserted that no one used the road at all. Sooner or later someone would come by and hopefully stop and help, because even though the car was mostly fine, he would need some help getting it back on the road.

Somehow, he had driven deep enough into the thick of trees to be pretty well hidden from the road. One would have to already know it was there and be looking for it to see it, which probably explained why no one stopped to help already. Surely someone would've driven by while he was passed out—the road was remote, but not _that_ remote—though he had no sense of how long he was there.

The massive gap in his memory had him shaking. Whatever happened to him that he couldn't remember, it wasn't some boring mundane day that ended in a minor accident. Something definitely _happened_ and not knowing what, terrified him beyond words.

"You are Stanley Pines," he said to himself, "you will _not_ forget that. You're fine. This was just a minor…setback."

Drawing a shaky breath, he tried not to think of the implications of his blackout. He would just have to bite the bullet and let Ford know what was going on. Before he didn't want to say anything, he _couldn't_. He was afraid to. He told himself that a few seconds or minutes here and there weren't a big deal. It didn't happen frequently enough to be a problem, so why mention it? Why make Ford and the kids worry over nothing? He got most of his memories back, and that was all that really mattered.

Deep down though, the reason he never mentioned the blackouts was because he was afraid that Ford would worry, then he would dig and then figure out the root of the problem and Stan was afraid of the answer. If he was at risk of losing his memories again, if this was just temporary, maybe he was better off not knowing.

If only he could shake the feeling that the kids were in danger. He hoped that the dread in his gut was nothing more than paranoia. That this intangible threat he felt was after them was nothing more than a figment of his imagination brought on by some horrible nightmare. Given everything they had been through the past year, it wasn't like the forgotten nightmare was completely unusual. But why did it feel _different_ this time?

Eventually a car passed and Stan managed to wave them down. A group of college kids on a road trip helped him get his car back on the road and then he was on his way. When he finally turned onto Gopher Road and saw the Mystery Shack, Stan finally felt the tension in his shoulders relax, he was finally home.

As he pulled into the driveway he saw Mabel emerge, a big smile on her face and Stan breathed a sigh of relief. They were fine. The kids were fine. He was just being understandably paranoid. Dipper and Ford stepped out a moment later and when Stan gingerly climbed out of the car Mabel ran up to him and gave him a huge hug.

"You're back! Where were you? I was so worried!" she exclaimed.

"You're late," Ford added, looking a little irritated, "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, I was… I stopped for lunch, lost track of time and then got into a little accident which held me up," Stan replied, and he had to inwardly laugh at just how _true_ that statement was, even though saying it felt like a lie.

"I can see that," Ford frowned, inspecting the dent on his bumper, "is my package OK?"

Stan rolled his eyes, "Your stuff is fine," he snapped, though he actually didn't know, "and I'm fine too thanks for asking."

"Sorry," Ford said, and to his credit he was sincere, "it's just really expensive and delicate equipment. _Are_ you OK?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?" Mabel asked, finally releasing him from the hug to look at him, "You seem… _not_ fine."

"I'm a little stiff and sore, but nothing too serious that a hot shower can't fix it," Stan gave her an affectionate pat on the head, "everything is good, kiddo."

Mabel frowned and stepped back, eying him with scrutiny, "Did something else happen?"

Stan sighed. Mabel sure was _perceptive_ these days, and the concern on her face was contagious because now Dipper and Ford seemed just as unsatisfied by his answer as she was.

But how could Stan tell them that something _did_ happen, and for some reason he couldn't remember what it was? The kids had enough to worry about lately, he didn't want to burden them with this. He exchanged a glance with Ford, a pleading glance that told him: _We'll talk later. Alone._ He seemed to get the message and nodded.

"Don't worry," Ford said reassuringly, "If he says he's fine, he's fine. Come on kids, help me get my stuff inside, OK?"

"Sure," Dipper said, while Mabel just stared at Stan with a doubtful look for a moment before doing as she was told. Ford took the keys from Stan, the look in his eyes making it clear that they were going to have a talk, and there was no getting out of it. Stan nodded at him, grinning weakly as Ford opened the trunk and unpacked his things.

"Thanks again for picking this up," Ford said with a grunt as he lifted the heaviest box and set it on the ground.

"Yeah," Stan replied, glancing around with a strange feeling in his gut. The abstract yet very strong sense that the kids were in danger still hadn't ceased, even after seeing everyone was safe and sound. "No problem."

"Looking for something?" Ford asked, cocking his head as he tried to figure out what Stan was looking for.

"No, uh, nothing. Just…I don't know," he shrugged, "thought I saw something."

"This box is pretty heavy, kids, do you mind getting the dolly?" Ford motioned to the large box now on the ground, "That way we can get everything inside in one trip."

Dipper nodded obediently and trotted off but Mabel lingered.

"Go on, help you brother."

She glanced at Stan and then at Ford, "Getting the dolly is a one-person job."

"Please, Mabel?" Stan sighed, "I appreciate the concern but I'm fine. It was only a minor accident, OK? Just a fender-bender, really."

"A minor fender-bender would not get you this shaken."

"Yeah well, you haven't seen the bill," he joked, but his choice of words left him with a strange feeling, one that he couldn't understand and that truly frightened him. _Bill…_ he was suddenly reminded of that stupid triangle demon that nearly ended the world last year, the reason he had lost his memories in the first place. It was the only way to defeat him.

The entity was gone, erased from existence and yet… saying his name, even though that wasn't what he was trying to say, was…well, for lack of a better word, triggering. He couldn't refer to the demon by name to the point of absurd superstition, and maybe on a different day, where most of it wasn't a complete blank, an innocuous mention of the word that just so happens to also be _his_ name wouldn't have even registered. But Stan inwardly cringed, the pain in his chest flaring. The triangle demon was gone, yet it still frightened him to think about him and the pain he caused his family.

"Fixing that bumper is going to be expensive!" he added with a forced laugh, desperate to put an end to the panic brewing up inside him. It wasn't working though, but he did his best to keep a calm front, so hopefully no one would notice.

"Can I talk to Stan for a moment, sweetie?" Ford asked.

"Yeah," she replied, "but next time, just say that's what you want. No need to patronize us, you know." She seemed annoyed, but then she smiled, the concern in her eyes never leaving her, and left them alone, glancing over her shoulder as she headed inside.

"OK, what's wrong?" Ford asked, though it came out more like a demand.

"Nothing I…"

"Bullshit."

"I just…had a weird day."

"Yeah? You seem a little jumpy," Ford told him, "paranoid even."

"I don't know, I just…I had a feeling like the kids are in danger," he said.

"Why would you think that?" Ford asked, though he too became more alert, glancing around for any potential threat.

Stan doesn't know how to answer, because he doesn't _know_. At a loss for a plausible response that would make any lick of sense, because somehow, he doubted that Ford would be satisfied with _I had a feeling_ , Stan answered, "Well, in case you haven't noticed, those kids are trouble magnets."

"Yeah, I think that runs in the family. What _really_ happened today, Stanley?"

He hesitated, feeling sweat forming on his brow, both hot and cold at the same time as his breath hitched and the pain in his chest screamed at him. He didn't know. He had no idea and how was he going to explain that? And that dread that the kids were in trouble wasn't leaving him, and images of that one-eyed triangle demon flashed through his brain and he couldn't shake it. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Stanley?"

He felt Ford's large hand rest on his shoulder, but he barely noticed it. His vision was getting cloudy, the panic was only growing.

"Hey, are you OK?"

He nodded, but he couldn't speak, he didn't have it in him to say a word because if he did it would be the wrong thing. He might accidentally tell him about the blackout, and all the other mini-blackouts he's had since he got his memories back. He wanted to tell Ford, because Ford might know what to do about it, but he was also incredibly terrified of what would happen if Ford found out. If he found out, everything would change and they would see him as the vulnerable old man he was afraid of becoming. But the fear came from something else, something almost outside of himself that warned him that saying something would be a bad idea.

"Stanley, breathe, you need to breathe," Ford soothed as he put his other hand on Stan's forehead. "Take a deep breath."

Stan did as he was told, not knowing what else to do. He was growing weak in the knees; the parking lot was spinning and the pain in his chest was becoming unbearable. He took a deep breath in, and then out, in and then out, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to will away the pain and the panic.

"Come on," Ford said, putting his arm across Stan's shoulders and gently guiding him inside, "you've clearly had a long day."

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel's voice prompted him to open his eyes to see the kids watching him with worried frowns on their faces.

"I'm fine, pumpkin," Stan said with a forced smile.

"He just hit his head harder than he originally thought," Ford added, giving Stan an out, "I don't think it's serious, but I'm going to just have a look. Make sure he's not concussed."

"Will he be OK?" Dipper asked.

"Of course, I will," Stan choked out, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"He might just need to take it easy the next day or so," Ford added. "Can you kids take the dolly to the car and I'll meet you there in a moment?"

"Sure," Dipper replied, sounding uncertain, but he did as he was told anyway, pausing when Mabel didn't follow him and he added, "Come on, he's in good hands."

Ford guided Stan inside and sat him on his chair in the living room, "Stanley, talk to me what's going on?" he asked, as he pressed two fingers to Stan's wrist, checking his pulse.

"I…I don't know," he muttered, his voice strained, "m-my chest hurts."

"Hurts how?"

"Like I got s-sucker-punched by a sledgehammer. Am I having a h-heart attack?"

"I don't think so," Ford replied, though he sounded worried, "Just focus on your breathing, OK? We'll see if that helps."

Stan nodded quickly, doing as he was told, choking out, "It k-kinda hurts to b-breathe." That was a lie though, because it _really_ hurt to breathe. Like his lungs were being skewered by a long thin knife every time he drew a deep breath. He clutched at his chest, bunching his t-shirt into a knot as he grabbed at it.

Ford pulled Stan's hand away and tugged at the collar of his shirt to get a look, "There's bruising here. It's possible you cracked or bruised your ribs with your seatbelt when you crashed."

"Maybe," Stan replied, not wanting to tell him that he wasn't wearing his seatbelt so how the heck did he get a bruise on his chest? And even if he was, there was no way he was going fast enough to cause that kind of damage, considering the minor damage to his car. What the heck was that all about? What the hell happened to him?

"You're starting to look better," Ford said after a few moments of nothing but Stan focusing on his breathing, "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," Stan lied, because he was still terrified, he was still in pain but he was managing to get control of his breathing again and was slowly beginning to relax. If only he could get rid of that intangible sense of danger, and the images of that triangle demon out of his mind. He could almost hear the demon in the back of his mind, laughing. Almost. He reminded himself that the thing was gone, erased from existence thanks to his sacrifice.

"I think you were having a panic attack," Ford explained.

Stan scoffed, "Me? A panic attack? Never."

"No need to act all macho, Stanley," Ford said, "considering everything you've been through? Everything we've been dealing with? A panic attack is nothing to be ashamed of."

"You've been through more than any of us," Stan argued, "and I've _never_ seen you have a friggin' panic attack."

"No, you haven't," Ford agreed, "but…"

"In fact, you're surprisingly well adjusted, considering you spent thirty years in another dimension," Stan confessed.

Ford cringed, "Yeah well, it was terrifying at times, especially at first, but it wasn't all bad. The multiverse can be frightening, but also quite beautiful and amazing. It took a while, but I learned to cope, focusing on my energy on research and discovery until I could fully accept and even embrace my new reality."

"You didn't think you'd ever come home, did you?"

"No, because I knew how dangerous trying would be. I had no choice but to accept it as my home," Ford admitted, "But I never stopped hoping that maybe, someday. I had my fair share of panic attacks too."

"I'm sorry," Stan said, "for sending you there and all the trouble I caused getting you back."

"I know," Ford replied, "we've been over this. What happened wasn't your fault alone, we _both_ played a part in that and…despite Weirdmageddon being the ultimate consequence of getting me home, I'm glad you did. I'm glad to be home and to have you back in my life, Stanley."

Stan smiled, but he didn't know how to feel about that. In a roundabout way, trying to get his brother back _caused_ the Weirdmageddon that hurt so many people, including his family. _Especially,_ his family. They were all still haunted by the aftermath, and while Stan was terrified about how his memory loss and blackouts affected him, he was suddenly struck with the guilt for ultimately causing it by rebuilding the Portal.

"Likewise, Ford," Stan grinned, hoping Ford couldn't see that while the sentiment was genuine, the smile was forced.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Stan lied, rubbing his aching chest, "must've been something I ate, you know? Because I don't have panic attacks."

"If you say so," Ford sighed with a knowing grin, patting him on the back, "I'm going to help the kids get my equipment inside. You had a long day, maybe you should just…relax, watch TV or something, OK? You earned it. Soos and Melody are off on a grocery run, but I was thinking maybe when they get back I whip us all up an amazing dinner. And maybe later when you're more like yourself, we can continue our talk?"

"OK," Stan chuckled, watching his brother go. Once he was left alone Stan's smile faltered.

He didn't exactly _blame_ himself for Weirdmageddon, because doing so would mean he would also have to blame Ford and Mabel for the parts they played, and he couldn't do that. They were all victims of being pawns in that stupid one-eyed triangle's twisted game. And yet, if he could go back and do it all over again, knowing the outcome, he still would've stopped at nothing to get Ford back. So, maybe his blackouts and memory problems were consequences he could deal with after all. He just wished his family didn't have to suffer for his mistakes.

Exhausted he leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up and closing his eyes. He released a deep sigh. He did feel better, now that he was home and got that…whatever it was out of his system because he refused to call it a panic attack. The feeling that the kids were in trouble had even eased up to the point Stan knew he was just being paranoid. The kids _were_ trouble magnets, so it wasn't completely out there to imagine some vague threat.

Or that was what he told himself. Problem was, his inner monologue of 'stop being paranoid, everything is OK' wasn't very convincing.

 _What happened to me today_? He wondered, terrified.

* * *

A/N Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, good or bad. Have an awesome day!


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